Darkly Dreaming Darridus
by Darridus
Summary: A Chaos Lord finds himself lost in a dream world, with no escape in sight. Will our hero live to awaken to the sanctuary of his home galaxy, or will he remain trapped in this terrifying "Nightopia" forever, abandoned by the Dark Gods? -Rated M due to the extremely violent tendencies of Chaos Lord Darridus.


Disclaimer : I own neither Warhammer 40,000 or NiGHTs, both of these titles are the property of Games Workshop and Sega, respectively.

* * *

Darkly Dreaming Darridus

1

Darridus was tired. He felt the weight of his corrupted terminator armor for the first time in what seemed like centuries. He dragged his hellblade along the floor, producing purplish blue flames from the twisting metal. The arm that intermeshed with his storm bolter fell limp at his side.

Darridus had just led his warband through a brutal massacre of the Ultramarines chapter of the loyalist astartes. They had killed all of them present on the moon of Falchion VII, which amounted to a fifty or so, all told. It was glorious, as far as mindless slaughters went. He had even managed to take the Force Commander's skull to hang upon his belt as a trophy. Darridus had killed the commander himself, shooting out his knees with his storm bolter and scything a volley of warpfire across him with his hellblade. He had been immolated within moments, with only his charred and blackened skull remaining. Even his power armor had been vaporized.

But the battle had been taxing for the Chaos Lord. They took minimal losses, but a full eighteen of his minions had been laid low when they were ambushed by a venerable dreadnaught. Darridus had to personally destroy the damned coffin walker himself, with an appropriated plague cannon from a dead Nurgling marine. After that, he had wanted no further incidents, so he led his warband personally from then on. He had sustained no wounds thanks to his corrupted terminator armor. However, even his unholy raiment could not completely deflect the fire from a plasma devastator marine-squad, as he found out after he finished the Force Commander. His storm bolter made short work of them after they revealed themselves, but he had been forced to expend precious warp energy to heal his wounds and repair his armor.

Normally, Darridus would simply sacrifice a few dozen cultists to recover the warp energy he expended, but they were now in short supply. His sorcerers had become somewhat overzealous in the experiments with warpcraft he had commissioned of them, and used up most of the chaos slavelings. So now Darridus was tired.

As he approached his chambers, he opened a secret passageway with a few of his personal incantations. When he grew weary, he would sequester himself away in his lair for some much needed rest. It wouldn't do to allow his subordinates knowledge of his sleeping arrangements. He shut the door behind him, and sealed it with another minor spell, further exhausting his already depleted energy. He stalked up to his makeshift bed, forged in the fires of the warp from the finest daemon skin. He fell forwards on to the mattress and drifted off to the void that haunted his sleep, not bothering to remove his armor or unequip his wargear.

* * *

It was all darkness now. He never really dreamed. Darridus had always just drifted off to sleep, never really dreaming of anything except an empty void. It was always cold, and pitch black. So much like the Eye of Terror, but without the influence of the warp or buildings of man. Lonely, cold, and cruel. Darridus pondered for a moment. He had never experienced a dream as vivid as this was turning out to be. He seemed to be floating down, or perhaps falling. But there was no sound of wind or visual reference by which he could tell.

Without warning, a shining light burst from beneath him. It seemed like a tear in the fabric of whatever reality he was in opened up. Wherever the portal led to, it was unmercifully bright and shimmery. Darridus resisted the urge to shield his eyes. He reminded himself that this was all just a dream, and he'd probably forget about in the morning. He tried not to concentrate on a new, falling sensation. He could tell the tear was getting rapidly closer. He had no jump pack to stay aloft, and no walls for him to dig into with his lightning claws to retard his fall. He sighed, and tried to look forward to waking up and going on a fresh round of pillaging the galaxy.

The all encompassing light was getting closer, and Darridus' mutated eyes were unaccustomed to it. It didn't feel like the flashes of exploding bolt rounds or grenades, but seemed to exuberate a sort of... warm feeling. He didn't like it. He grit his teeth and clamped his eyelids closed, but they could only block out a portion of the light. He drew right to the precipice of the light-tear, and his legs fell through. He could still feel them, so the light wasn't dangerous at all.

The light soon gave way to sound, and his vision was burned white. He could hear only the ever present noise that accompanies flame, bellowing in his ears. Still, he felt no burning sensation, or anything else. He realized he could no longer feel his limbs, and then the rest of his body lost sensation. Darridus blacked out.

* * *

He was waking up now, he realized. He shook the haze from his eyes and was instantly on alert, shrugging off his grogginess. Whatever had happened... he was no longer in his sepulcher. He found himself on stone tiling, for some reason not giving way and crushing, even beneath his immense mass. With relief, he discovered his wargear still in place, even his hellblade and storm bolter. He scanned the environment around him, careful to check for even the barest sign of movement. The paving he was on led through some gates and what looked like a small fountain plaza. Beyond that, it was night. Even with his perfect night vision granted by his occulobe implant, he could not see past the first row of trees outside the other side of the plaza. That alone set off warning alarms in his head. The only reasonable explanation was some sort of daemonic trickery...but this did not resemble the warp at all.

At first glance, he might have thought this was some sort of imperial resort world, where the fat and wealthy went to die a slow, yet comfortable demise. However, something was definitely _wrong_ here, even by his twisted standards. Even with his enhanced eyesight, he saw no birds in the trees, or insects in the grass. He opened his mouth beneath his helm and tasted the air for a moment. His eyes widened. There were no microorganisms or germs in the air at all, and he doubted they were on any objects either. His eyes narrowed once more, and he raised his storm bolter to hip level. This may not be the warp, but it was no natural world either.

Suddenly and without warning, he heard wing beats from directly overhead. _Damn it_, he thought, _My Lyman's Ear should have picked up the sound of wings before whatever it is got so close!_.

"Visitor from another world, wel-"

_BANG BANG!_

With lightning fast reflexes Darridus whipped his entire body torso around, with his legs sliding on the pavement to turn around halfway, making sparks fly from the now-slashed pavement. He had blindly fired his storm bolter into the air behind him as soon as he ascertained the location of the creature's approximate location based on sound. He hadn't dared to turn around fully when he thought the creature was alive, knowing how the very sight of some Daemon's could enslave the minds of mortals, or even a Chaos Lord such as himself.

"Squarrk! Watch where you shoot that thing, sir, or-" _K-chk._

The training of his gun was audible and the creature adopted silence. Darridus got a proper look at it, and was disturbed somewhat. He had never seen a daemon of it's like, which was troubling for a Chaos Lord. It was some sort of avian creature, clad in a luxurious red suit with no pants, a mockery of some imperial noble. It wore spectacles that served no obvious purpose, as they did not properly reach it's eyes. It's wings were vaguely in the shape of arms, and filled the jacket sleeves of the creature's coat. A Daemon of uncertain origins, he was sure. Darridus would have heard about such an odd creature before now if anyone had. Still, it obviously feared his storm bolter if his expression was anything to go by. Darridus resisted the urge to smirk beneath his helm, and roughly intoned in the double voice provided by his helm's vox "Speak, worm. Where is this place? What are you? Tell me before I carve you open and feed you your entrails!" He raised the hellblade in his other hand for emphasis, and the lesser Daemon that haunted it laughed maniacally at the prospect in it's deep, unnatural voice.

"Th-thi-this is N-Nightopia sir. The, the Dream Dimension. People come here when they have vivid dreams. Called visitors. I'm Owl, I, I've lived here fo-for many years.." The owl-daemon cringed and flapped it's wings closed to it's chest pathetically. As if they would actually stop either of his armaments. "Th-this place is called the Dream Gate. I-it's a hub th-that conne...connects to the other dream worlds...please don't kill me, sir..."

_Dream Dimension? Dream...Gate...? What manner of plane is this. Oh, Dark Gods damn me, please don't let this be some other dimension the Dark Gods had dropped him in from the warp, as some cruel jest or punishment for my failures! Why?! I had always served them faithfully, I betrayed the accursed false emperor for them Damn it! _

Darridus cast his eyes downward, brooding over his situation. He was about to eviscerate the owl-daemon with his storm bolter as an afterthought, when suddenly a curious sound filled the air. It was some sort of air instrument, playing a tune he had never heard of. He heard the owl-daemon flap away, spewing nonsense and begging for the aid of whatever player had come to his aid.

Darridus grimaced. This daemon might not be such a pushover. He raised his head and aimed his storm bolter upwards, towards where the owl-daemon was flying to. It was the moon, up in the sky. A full moon without a cloud in sight to obscure it's mystical wonder. To the backdrop of the moon, a figure was floating there, with hands brought up in the position of a flutist, but with no obviously visible instrument. The figure was cloaked in shadow, the moon being the only source of light. It was positioned directly behind the daemon, obscuring all but it's outline.

The Daemon ceased it's music, and seemed to glance at the owl-daemon as it squawked out it's story in a panic, and cast Darridus a glance of his own. Warily, it floated towards the Chaos Lord, who prepared himself for a battle for his very soul.

To Be Continued...


End file.
